


Snap

by ieatgrassalot



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25325635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieatgrassalot/pseuds/ieatgrassalot
Summary: It starts with the snap of a pencil.-a.k.a. a vent fic where McCree recognizes the Hanzo isn't okay and gets him to feel better.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 2
Kudos: 88





	Snap

_Snap._

McCree jolts at the sound, having gone daydreaming for the past ten minutes if only to rid his mind of thought. Harsh morning light streams in through the bay windows running along the wall, and Hanzo sits across from him, glasses on. His pencil is broken, and he’s looking down at it with enough disdain to stop a man in his tracks, and Hanzo lets out a sigh. McCree’s morning coffee has gone cold on the table, and his mouth has been closed for long enough that it feels sticky when he opens up to speak again.

“We got a pencil sharpener on the counter if ya need it.”

Hanzo glances up from the table, over the frame of his wire glasses, before back to the pencil lead snapped onto his sheet of paper. “Yes, thank you.”

McCree picks up his coffee as Hanzo brushes the led off, leaving an ashy streak in its wake. He takes a sip from the mug, unsurprised at the coolness of the liquid.

“No problem.”

Hanzo scoots himself away from the table harshly, making the chair squeak loudly on the floor. McCree chuckles.

“Too early for that.” It comes out as a joke, soft on the wind but it looks like it hits Hanzo as hard as a rock.

His head snaps up, and he looks McCree straight in the eye. “Apologies,” he says, bowing his head back down before walking past McCree. “Excuse me.”

The mug in McCree’s hand was halfway to his lips when Hanzo brushed past, but it stopped in its tracks as McCree watched him stalk to the counter. There’s a tenseness he’s seen there before, the line of his shoulders more square than usual. To an outsider, Hanzo probably looks his usual, sour self, but the snapped led points otherwise. McCree’s known the man too long- he’s far too careful, far too precise to do something like that, even by accident. His thoughts run alongside the small buzz of the pencil sharpener running, and Hanzo walking back to his seat. He sits down, careful to not make more unnecessary noise, and sets back to writing. McCree guesses it’s a report of some kind, based on the focus etched into the other man's features.

He contemplates asking Hanzo if he’s alright.

He lets the thought go.

_Snap._

Hanzo’s brow furrows deeper, and he sighs again, rougher than the last. McCree chuckles, taking another sip from his mug. 

“Them pencils’ ain’t very strong, huh?”

Hanzo’s sense of humor is hard to nail, and it’s taken a while for McCree to get a grasp on it, so he’s not surprised the man doesn’t laugh. What worries him is the utter lack of any reaction at all. McCree chances a glance down at the man's paper, and the deepness of the marks worries him as well. Hanzo stands again, silently, and starts walking to the pencil sharpener again. His fists are balled tight, and even though his steps fall lightly, McCree can tell he wants to stomp. He watches him this time, putting his mug down on the table as he sees Hanzo take a deep breath from across the room, sharpening his pencil again.

Hanzo turns around when he’s done, face downturned and dark as he walks back over, as he sits down across from McCree again. He starts to write, not uttering a word or muttering, which McCree has noticed he does when he writes. As he continues his strokes become a little sharper, a little shorter- edging off into a way some could describe as murderous. McCree keeps watching him, and as his frustration peaks, he reaches his flesh arm across the table and gently lays it across Hanzo’s writing hand. Hanzo’s eyes snap to him, an angry crook in his brow before he closes his eyes and sighs heavily and his shoulders slump. 

His hand relaxes and the pencil drops from his grip, leaving a streak across the paper akin to the one the lead had left before. McCree trails his hand up and down Hanzo’s forearm soothingly, as a pained look flashed across the man's features.

“I am sorry.”

McCree shushes him, trailing his hand back down to the other mans before cradling it. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, darlin’.”

Hanzo sighs again, and takes his glasses off and sets them on the table with his free hand for massaging the bridge of his nose.

McCree pauses for a moment, scanning Hanzo for any signs of a panic attack. Seeing none, he gently tugs Hanzo’s hand to get his attention. Hanzo looks up weakly, the dark rings under his eyes more visible now that the glasses are gone. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

Hanzo closes his eyes again, running his thumb and forefinger across them before going back to pinch the bridge of his nose. “No.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” McCree responds, dragging his thumb across the other man's knuckles. “What do you want to do?”

Hanzo’s eyes open, not looking at him, but down into his lap. “Sleep may help.”

McCree stands from the table, making his way to Hanzo’s side without dislodging their hands. He puts his other on Hanzo’s back. “Let’s get you to bed, then.”


End file.
